


Come Away, Death

by TrenchcoatRats



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: A Family That Kills Together Stays Together, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Family, Gen, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Martin Whitly's A+ Parenting, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Protective Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23891332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrenchcoatRats/pseuds/TrenchcoatRats
Summary: In a world where the Surgeon was never arrested, the Whitlys have Nicholas Endicott over one night. It goes decidedly better for some parties than it does the others.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69





	Come Away, Death

It would be considered an uncharacteristic move for Nicholas Endicott to be the one not hosting were it any family other than the Whitlys. But they were a shining star of New York’s wealthy families, two prodigal children and their gorgeous mother, the latter of whom still drew longing glances from unmarried and married men alike. Nicholas would categorize his own gaze at Jessica as “appreciative”, with an occasional hint of fantasizing. Ainsley Whitly matched her mother’s charm and passion perfectly, commanding attention whenever she was on the news with admirable grace. In another world, he could easily see Ainsley being his own daughter. 

He exits the car at that thought, waving the driver off without looking back. As he walks up the steps to the Whitly residence he briefly imagines what Jessica would be wearing tonight. He’d never see her wear the same dress twice to an event, but she did have a fondness for red dresses at some point, he remembers. Whatever she’d be wearing, it’d undoubtedly be formfitting and stunning. He has the start of a warm grin ready on his face, the first syllable of her name on his lips as he knocks on the door. But it’s not Jessica who opens the door, or even one of the help. It’s Malcolm.

Unlike his sister, Nicholas could never quite imagine Malcolm as his own son. Malcolm was clever, to be sure, and there was a grace to his movements that spoke of great thought put into every action, but as soon as Nicholas saw his eyes the illusion would shatter. Malcolm was undoubtedly his father’s son, even before he became the second Doctor Whitly the family had. Malcolm lights up when he sees Nicholas’ face, opening the door to allow him in with a happy “Mr. Endicott! I’m glad you’re here.”

He gives Malcolm a smile half of what he would’ve given his mother and steps into the Whitly residence. He’d never spent as much time here as he’d wanted, but it was a rather nice home. Jessica’s family was old money and had the taste in decor to show. He turns back around to Malcolm as he hears the door shut behind him. “Please, Malcolm, you can call me Nicholas. And I could never refuse an invitation from my favorite faces to see at parties. You Whitlys are always the best part of any event.”

Malcolm smiles and looks down, bashful at the praise. “I don’t know that we’re that entertaining, but I appreciate the high praise.” He pauses and looks at Nicholas directly. “I didn’t get the chance to say this last time we saw each other, but I’m sorry about Javier. I was...excited to see what his future with you had in store for him.” 

Nicholas nods once tensely, crafting his face into just enough sorrow to be appropriate, yet refrain from killing the atmosphere. “His passing hit hard, but I know we’ll manage. I just wish we didn’t have to.” He opens his mouth to continue speaking, to guide the conversation away towards more pleasant topics before the sound of heels on the wooden floor catches their attention. He sees Malcolm’s face light up in a small smile, one he’s seen on Jessica’s face many times in the past. Nicholas turns to see Ainsley Whitly, now only five feet away and smiling broadly at him. He steps forward and embraces her warmly; at the age where he had first grown his friendship with Jessica, Ainsley certainly inherited her mother’s looks and beauty. He feels her smile grow from where she’s pressed against his suit until she pulls back, looking at him with such genuine happiness that it warms his heart. It’s always good to be appreciated.

“Nicholas, we’re so glad to have you here.” Ainsley says, her blonde hair styled and curled perfectly, complimenting the dark blue dress she wears.

“Ainsley, it’s always a pleasure to see you. I love every chance I get to spend time with the two of you, you do your mother proud.” Ainsley’s warm smile broadens as she visibly appreciates the compliment, so unlike her brother. “Speaking of your mother, where is she?” He jokingly turns half back around, as if she’d quietly come behind him and is waiting to surprise Nicholas.

There’s a clattering sound that comes from the kitchen, something falling, or just about. He can’t see it from where he’s at, but by the quiet huff of laughter from Malcolm, it’s nothing serious.

“Oh, Jessie?” For just a second, Nicholas tenses at the voice, a small, slight motion. Despite the decades of knowing him, he doesn’t think he’d ever get comfortable with the idea of Martin Whitly married to Jessica. He was a fine enough man, an incredibly skilled surgeon and loving father, but the way he’d slotted himself in Jessica’s life, taking the spot Nicholas had been painstakingly carving out for himself in Jessica’s heart still left him with no desire to spend time with the man more than he had to. Thankfully, Doctor Whitly is still held up with whatever he’s doing in the kitchen and doesn’t force Nicholas to have to look at him at this moment. “She’s not here at the moment. Her father’s health took a sudden turn for the worse, unfortunately. She didn’t want to cause a fuss and cancel on you with such short notice.” 

Malcolm shakes his head, a small smile on his face. “Dad,” he calls back, his voice echoing in the atrium, though not as loudly as his father’s. “you ever hear of an indoor voice?” 

Ainsley laughs quietly and Nicholas turns to smile at her. She mouths a sincere “sorry” for her brother and father’s behavior. He waves off her apology goodnaturedly, while internally counting down how long he would have to stay before making his leave. Despite what he told Ainsley, there were very few times he would ever subject himself to Martin Whitly without his wife nearby, regardless of Jessica’s childrens’ presence. 

“Well, I _have_ and as a matter of fact, I seem to remember teaching a certain son of mine exactly how to use his. If you have the time to talk back, you can come and help me in the kitchen with this.”

Malcolm’s already moving before his father’s finished speaking, only mouthing a quick apology in his guest’s direction as a last second thought. Ainsley rolls her eyes before gently reaching for Nicholas’ hand and pulling him towards the living room. It’s early December, so he’s not surprised to see the tree off to one side, tastefully decorated with just enough sentimental photo ornaments to be Jessica’s work. But he’s more surprised by the other side of the living room, he doesn’t pay more attention to Doctor Whitly than he needs to but it always slips his mind that the other man’s Jewish. The decorations are tasteful, he knows Jessica wouldn’t allow for anything else, but they still stand out to Nicholas, as one more reminder that this man does not belong in the Milton house.

Ainsley leads him towards the couch and the nearby seats, where there’s a plate of gingerbread cookies waiting on a table nearby. As he gets closer he sees that each one of the cookies is decorated to look like one of the Whitlys, with an extra one with a sweater with the letter “N” on it. When Ainsley notices Nicholas’ attention she smiles. “Dad makes the cookies each year, like he needs validation with his baking skills. Normally we give all the other extra to the help, but our mother wanted to have an extra set out for you. I know she feels terrible about having to leave before even seeing you.” 

Nicholas shakes his head, “She shouldn’t. There’s nothing more important in this world than the ones we love, your mother knows that better than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Ainsley’s smile gets more thoughtful as her own gaze goes to the plate. “Did you know, my mother actually commissioned this dress for me? It’s part of a matching set. This is only the third time I’ve ever worn it, the first time was for my twenty-first birthday and then again when we celebrated Malcolm getting his doctorate. She’s done so much for us both, in the little things and big ones. I don’t think I’d be half the person I am today without her love and support.”

Nicholas looks over at Ainsley, takes the step closer to place a hand on Ainsley’s shoulder. “Your mother loves you very much, you should see how proud she was when you came on the news at the studio, she could barely keep her eyes off the TV. You’re an incredible woman Ainsley and an incredible reporter. You have so much potential that she and I can barely wait to see. I know you’ll blow away everyone’s expectations.”

Ainsley smiles up at him gratefully, he can see the tears at the corner of her eyes for a second before she blinks them away. “Thank you, Nicholas,” she says gratefully. He lets his hand fall after one last squeeze to her shoulder. 

After a few seconds of silence, two pairs of footsteps echo and start to come closer. One pair is measured, while the other has enough pause between each step as if there’s an added bounce with each foot forward. He doesn’t even need a second to try to figure out which is which.

“Sorry about the wait! Had to make sure everyone’s drink was nice and hot.” Doctor Whitly’s jovial voice grates lightly against Nicholas’ ears. Ainsley looks over to where her dad and brother are and sits after a short shake of her head. The moment that she had had with Nicholas now firmly gone.

Nicholas sits down at the chair closest to Ainsley, choosing to ignore the couch and loveseats in the hope of maximizing distance between himself and Martin Whitly. Father and son emerge seconds later, each with his hands full with cups of steaming drinks.

“Now! There’s warm milk for my little Ainsley,” Doctor Whitly passes the drink off to his daughter who takes it with a smile. “Hot cocoa for my boy, with _mini marshmallows_ too.” Malcolm’s shoulders slump for a second before he rightens himself at his father’s expectant look. 

“Tea for you, Doctor Whitly,” Malcolm says, handing the tea off to his father in exchange for the cocoa, seemingly ignoring the “Oo, thank you Doctor Whitly” that’s eagerly said. “And last, but definitely not least, tea for you Mr. Endicott- sorry, Nicholas.” He passes it off to Nicholas with an apologetic smile at his slip. Jessica raised him with manners if nothing else.

Nicholas watches the Witleys with their own drinks for a second before trying his own. Doctor Whitly seemed to drink from his a bit too quickly, pulling away from the hot drink with a wince. Ainsley sips at her drink, having the common sense that her father seems to lack. Malcolm, in stark contrast, stares at his drink as if the childish beverage has all the answers in the world in it, if he can only see them through the mini marshmallows. He doesn’t move to drink from it.

After a second of bemused watching, Nicholas looks to his own drink and takes a sip. It seems like Doctor Whitly’s skills don’t end in the operating room, the man is at least skilled in two areas. He takes another sip and looks at Ainsley.

“So, was there any reason you wanted to see me? Not that I’m not enjoying myself, of course.” 

Ainsley leans forward in her seat, bracing her cup on her hands rather than her dress. “Actually, Malcolm was the one who spoke to our mother about inviting you. He’s always been passionate about ballet.”

That’s news to him, though he feels like it’s not the first time he’s learned that. Maybe Jessica had mentioned it once? He can’t remember the specifics, though.

He looks at Ainsley a minute longer before turning to Malcolm who’s looking both embarrassed and happy. 

“Uh, yeah, I actually used to do ballet myself. I did it for about eight years and went to every performance I could with my parents. According to my teacher I 'showed great potential.' " He stops for a second, suddenly looking pained and glancing down into his still untouched cup. “I still miss it sometimes.”

“Why’d you stop?” He’s asking the question before he can even think about it, genuinely wanting to know more.

Malcolm seems to flinch for a second, but when he looks back up at Nicholas he’s smiling. “Needed a change, I guess. I started fencing in high school that year in its place, needed to do something in its place or I’d go crazy.”

“Picking up one hobby immediately after another, becoming a surgeon, you really don’t like having free time do you, Malcolm?”

Malcolm laughs. “Not at all, I hate it really. Idle hands, rest for the wicked, and all that.”

Nicholas nods, not really listening as he looks at the ripples in his tea. 

“How is it?” Doctor Whitly asks, leaning forward as if about to jump at the idea of a compliment.

“It’s...surprisingly good.”

Ainsley and Malcolm snort in unison and Doctor Whitly looks offended for a split second, as if his tea making skills were never something that could have been suspect. He recovers quickly, smiling at Nicholas. “Why don’t you finish it then?” 

And he does. He drinks the rest of the cup, with some part of him knowing it must still be slightly too hot to be enjoyable, but the rest of him not noticing anything. He sets his cup in his lap for a minute before leaning forward for the plate of cookies. He grabs two, his own and Jessica’s and stares at them. 

“Why’d you grab that one?” Ainsley’s voice comes through as if it’s underwater.

“Because...I love her, I love your mother.” The admission comes freely from his lips and he smiles at hearing it aloud. He likes hearing it out in the open, his love for Jessica is nothing that ever should have to be hidden.

“You love her...do you love her like you loved Sophie?” If Ainsley’s voice sounded like it was underwater, Malcolm’s sounded like it was said at the top of a mountain, wind howling around it.

“Sophie…” Nicholas says to himself. “Sophie…hmm” He hasn’t cared to think about Sophie in a long time. She was dead at this point. Dead to him and dead to the world probably, he snorts. Malcolm moves forward and suddenly there’s something lodged in his hand. He thinks it’s a knife, a pocket knife. The handle is well worn and clearly old, but the blade is clear and shines from its place in his hand. There’s a knife in his hand and he doesn’t know how it got there.

“Sophie...I liked her until she told me no…” He looks over at Ainsley who’s not smiling. Who’s looking at him like she’s never smiled at him before in her life. He wants her to smile at him. He wants her to smile at her like Jessica smiles at him. “Your mother...she’s too smart to tell me no.”

That doesn’t make Ainsley smile at him. Instead, she sets down her cup, puts a sharp looking kitchen knife into her hand, and lunges forward for Nicholas, just as quickly as Malcolm had moved, burying the knife in his neck. Unlike the pocket knife, the knife in his neck has no discernible characteristics, there’s nothing to set it apart from any other knife. Except this one’s in his neck and all the others aren’t. Panic begins to slowly creep in through the haze his brain’s in and he tries to move away. Move further in his seat, move out, get away from these knives and the pain he can’t feel. But the knife in his hand keeps him in one spot as he begins to choke on the blood in his throat. Ainsley stares at him coldly - how could he have ever thought her smile and expressions were warm with eyes that cold - before moving forward gingerly, as if in slow motion and jerking the knife in his neck to the side.

Nicholas Endicott bleeds out in his seat, never one to make a mess even in death. Ainsley watches the small trails of blood escape from the wound points, kept mostly contained due to the knives, with a degree of detached interest. Malcolm looks at Endicott’s face, noticing the little twitches and tells that had gotten through as the ketamine in his tea began working and looks at Endicott’s vacant eyes, finally as empty and hollow as the man himself was. 

There’s a part of him that wants to take his knife out of Endicott’s hand and stab it into his chest twenty more times. But that’s the child in him, the boy that opened the box in the basement and had his nightmares reopened and heart torn when he finally found out who she actually was. The logical part of him, the part that’s been Martin Whitly’s son for thirty-two years, that’s been a student in medicine and murder, knowing exactly how many of the Surgeon’s kills logged by the NYPD have actually been Malcolm’s work, knows that he’d be giving his father exactly what he wants and more if he did that. He wonders if that’s why Ainsley killed Endicott.

If she killed him to keep the attention off Malcolm, or if she wanted the attention for herself. Or if she just wanted to. He could find out, but he doesn’t want to know the answer. No one can make him face this answer. 

His eyes move to glance at his father, who meets Malcolm’s gaze evenly, a smile on his face. Martin Whitly stands up and claps his hands together and it’s like he casts a spell on both his children who jolt in their seats at the sudden sound.  
  
“Wow, just _wow_. Good work, team! That was some quick moving Ainsley, atta girl!” Ainsley smiles a little bit at the praise. “And Malcolm, that was an interesting choice. I have to say my boy, I wasn’t expecting you to bring out your old knife like that, onto his hand no less.” His father’s tone is no less warm, but now the desire for an explanation, the demand, is present.

Malcolm swallows, hoping his hand doesn’t tremble enough for his dad to notice while knowing he absolutely does. “That knife...you gave it to me on the first camping trip. The one with Sophie. I thought it’d be fitting if it wrapped up one more loose end from the trip.”

His father hums, tilting his head in a “fair enough” gesture. But his eyes still have that look, as if he has Malcolm backed into a corner and is waiting to see when Malcolm will realize that and what he’ll do to try and get out. “And what about the hand? You had more than enough reason to go to town on Endicott, but you stopped with just the hand. Why?”

Malcolm grabs his trembling hand with the other in an attempt to get it under control. He’s not a child anymore. He’s a grown man...who’s just as under his father’s thumb as always. He can’t tell anymore if what he does is because he likes it or if it’s just because it’s what his father wants. Going to medical school, being a scared kid with a knife, then a scalpel, having his father praise him again and again for just how much like Martin Whitly, like _The Surgeon,_ his son was becoming, it was all one overwhelming tsunami of issues. The funniest part was, it was during this murder where Malcolm felt like he could try to get out from the pressure of everything. He was old enough that his dad didn’t tell him what he had to do with these, so if he only stabbed Endicott in the hand, that was his own business. He didn’t need to feed his father and that part of him that’s festered everyday since he was eleven, maybe even sooner. Just because he couldn’t leave that didn’t mean he’d have to be an active participant. He couldn’t lie and say he didn’t get a certain level of enjoyment from the sight of that particular knife in Endicott’s hand, but he could stop himself from making his life any worse.

But he didn’t know how to begin to parse these feelings out to himself, let alone pick the least incriminating parts to offer to his father in the vain hope that Martin Whitly wouldn’t smell weakness, hesitation to root out in some way. His father raises an eyebrow at him anyway, like he knows the answer and is already imagining how to fix it. Before either of them say anything, Ainsley breaks in.

“It’s obvious isn’t it? Malcolm wanted to let me have this one, so I can start catching up with him.” Her tone is flippant, she’s still not looking away from Endicott from the sound of her voice. Malcolm is still looking at his father, who looks passively back. But after a second, he snorts and Malcolm can breathe again. 

“You’ve got a ways to go if you want to catch up with your brother, sweetheart. Malcolm’s got quite the bodycount, don’t you my boy?”

Whatever bravery he’d had earlier is gone as he nods in agreement. He doesn’t want Ainsley to have killed as many people as he has, he especially doesn’t want her to have killed as many as their father has. He doesn’t think Ainsley does either.

“It’s a good thing I’m young then, isn’t it?” Ainsley responds, having a smile on her face, like she was reading a news broadcast and about to announce a cut to the weatherman, nice, but empty. 

Their father laughs, though it’s not particularly funny. 

He walks over to where Endicott’s body is, pausing at the hand as if he’s about to pick up the issue again, before moving right over it to the neck. He makes a pleased hum.

“That’s my girl. You tore through his neck with your first thrust and you so smoothly cut it to the side, almost like you never let the knife rest there for a few seconds. It really is a shame, y’know, that you haven’t gone with the family business, Ainsley...By which I, of course, mean medicine.”

“I dunno, honestly. I think reporting suits Ains more than enough.” He makes eye contact with her and grins. She smiles back, not the fake smile she uses with work or when she’s throwing herself into the line of fire, or even the one she gives their parents. It’s the same one that she’s given him since she came home from third grade, frustrated about not getting multiplication, and Malcolm stopped his own homework to spend the afternoon walking her through it. It’s the same one she gave him when he came to her college graduation, when she ran up and threw her arms around him before she even acknowledged their parents. 

For better and worse, they’ve been there for each other. They have the other’s back and support each other however they can. It’s the one wholly untainted thing about this family and Malcolm loves it and his sister more than he could ever vocalize. Regardless of how many bodies are between them.

Without looking away from the body, their father says a firm, “Finish your cocoa, Malcolm.” and shatters the moment with ease. Ainsley looks at their father and Malcolm looks at his drink, the sight sending his stomach churning before he downs almost the whole thing in one go. He almost wishes the mini marshmallows would choke him before he could be roped into helping with the murder cleanup.

**Author's Note:**

> I worked on this Nonstop after seeing the season finale so if there are any errors (and there Probably are) please let me know!! I was running on pure adrenaline and exhilaration :^)  
> if you guys like this, let me know in either comments or kudos! i have plans to write more for this universe regardless but validation Does feed and fuel me


End file.
